For, as yet, an armed force would be needed to
penetrate the borderland. Once he and his men bad experienced
the glory of a night pursuit. Then, at the drift fences, he had
fought one of his battles. But it was impossible adequately to
patrol all parts of a range bigger than some Eastern States.
Buck Johnson did his best, but it was like stepping with sand the
innumerable little leaks of a dam. Did his riders watch toward
the Chiricahuas, then a score of beef steers disappeared from
Grant's Pass forty miles away. Pursuit here meant leaving cattle
unguarded there. It was useless, and the Senor soon perceived
that sooner or later he must strike in offence.
For this purpose he began slowly to strengthen the forces of his
riders. Men were coming in from Texas. They were good men,
addicted to the grass-rope, the double cinch, and the ox-bow
stirrup. Senor Johnson wanted men who could shoot, and he got
them.
"Jed," said Senor Johnson to his foreman, "the next son of a gun
that rustles any of our cows is sure loading himself full of
trouble. We'll hit his trail and will stay with it, and we'll
reach his cattle-rustling conscience with a rope."
So it came about that a little army crossed the drift fences and
entered the border country.
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